At Least He Was Wearing Pants This Time
by BlueRoseRabbit
Summary: Written for homework vocabulary assignments. Two shot. Sherlock and John meet the Prime Minister. Things do not go well.
1. The Aftermath

_I wrote this for school and thought I'd post it because Why Not?_

* * *

"That went well," Sherlock Holmes, a tall, dark haired man, commented as he and the short, blonde man Doctor John Watson walked out the front doors of the government building.

"We were supposed to be getting introduced to the Prime Minister, Sherlock!" John said with irritation.

"We _were _introduced to the Prime Minister." Sherlock said.

"_They pulled guns on you!_"

"They pulled guns on me _post-deduction_." Sherlock corrected with a smirk.

"That doesn't make it any better!" John smacked his forehead with his palm.

"Oh, relax, I knew you'd intervene."

John sighed. "Well, I wasn't going to let them kill you, was I? Your brother pays half the rent." The two walked down a semicircular path and then took a right. The tube was a block away. John had always thought it funny that Americans called the tube a "subway".

"_I_ pay half the rent!" Sherlock protested indignantly.

"No, you clot, Mycroft pays the rent for you. Where do you think that money in your bank account comes from? I cure people's maladies, and you solve crimes, but only one of us gets paid. In return for keeping your impulsive arse out of trouble, your brother puts money in your bank and pretends it's your inheritance, and then you pay half the rent so I don't have to." John informed the tall consulting detective.

"Nonsense, John," Sherlock protested weakly, "Mummy's death provided me with enough money to-"

"Nope, you're wrong. Get over it." John strode ahead of Sherlock; an impressive feat for a man with shorter legs. "Now, did you remember to wash the bedsheets?"

Sherlock gasped as his brain went into overdrive. "The bedsheets, John, brilliant! The killer made his first mistake, ooh, we've got him now!"

John spun around, baffled. "What?"

"The Hartford suicides, John!" Sherlock said, seizing him by the shoulders. "First with an intravenous needle from the hospital the victim's brother was in, then the woman's self-hanging! But the killer made a mistake! Phone Lestrade. Tell him to meet us at the crime scene in an hour." Sherlock let go of John and ran past him, coat billowing behind him dramatically.

"You phone him!" John protested as he started running after the taller man.

"I prefer to text." Sherlock said when John was caught up enough that he wouldn't have to shout.

"I don't care what you prefer, phone him yourself." John muttered as they ran. The ex-captain of the army was pretty fit, so he could easily talk while running. Sherlock just skidded to a stop and hailed a taxi. John swore and phoned Lestrade. He was such a pushover.


	2. What Happened

_Wanted to know why they pulled guns on Sherlock? Well, here you go. :)_

_(this was also for a vocab story btw)_

* * *

"Now, Sherlock, I need you to be on your best behavior. The Prime Minister has recently recovered from a particularly nasty head cold and isn't feeling great." Mycroft Holmes told his younger brother outside of the Prime Minister's office.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered something uncomplimentary about both Mycroft and the Prime Minister under his breath. John Watson tried to hide a chuckle.

"Will we be recorded?" John asked after rapidly composing himself.

Mycroft frowned disapprovingly. "Yes, and I'll be watching it later. Sherlock-"

"I know, I know. We'll be fine, Mycroft. I thought that this was your idea in the first place." Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently. He was in the middle of a case and hated to be bothered with pleasantries, especially pleasantries with people he deemed unimportant to him. At this time, the Prime Minister was unimportant.

"Actually, it was his idea." Mycroft contradicted. "He's been anxious to meet the man who beat Moriarty and bad press. Go on, now, we've kept him waiting long enough."

Sherlock strode to the security guards and demanded that they open the door. John sighed again and muttered, "Introduce Sherlock to one of the most important men in England. Both of 'em have ginormous egos and a temper to match. Bloody fantastic. What could possibly go wrong?"

He caught up to Sherlock quickly. The two were led to the office, where the Prime Minister himself was seated behind a desk. Two burly bodyguards with guns in holsters were at the wall behind him, one dark skinned and one only slightly tanned. The Prime Minister, portly, balding, and pale, stood at their arrival and smiled as John gave a snappy salute. Sherlock tried very hard not to laugh because the poor government official's tie was backwards, crooked, and had a ketchup stain at the tip. John surprisingly managed to keep a straight face.

The prime waddled around his desk and approached them. His gaze focused on John. "Ah, at ease. You're no longer in the military, correct, Mr...?"

"I am Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock interrupted as John relaxed, "and this is _Dr._ John Watson, my friend and colleague."

The prime minister's head turned to Sherlock and he offered his hand."Yes, I know who you are. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes." John fixed Sherlock with a stern look in the brief second where Sherlock looked as if he was about to refuse the handshake. Sherlock caught John's eye and quickly shook the man's plump hand. The Prime Minister shook John's hand as well.

"I wish I could say the same," Sherlock muttered under his breath, and John shot him another look, this one a warning to behave. "Was there a reason you wanted to see me, or are we here to discuss your centrist ideals? I do have a case going on, so..." His baritone voice trailed off.

The Prime Minister's jaw clenched at Sherlock's rudeness. It was an honor to be there and the consulting detective had the audacity to want to _leave_! He forced himself to relax and smile. "Yes, in fact," he said after a moment, "I wished to congratulate you of your victory over the criminal mastermind that goes- or _went_, rather- by the name of Moriarty. He and his kind have plagued this world for almost centuries, and you've managed to topple his empire quite well."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but said nonetheless, "Thank you. Now, I'd better be off-"

"Wait just one minute, Mr. Holmes, I'm sure it will be worth your time." The Prime Minister's jaw clenched in anger again, but he kept his words and tone civil. "I'd like to offer you a case."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "Surely you heard me earlier. I'm already on a case."

"Yes, but I'm sure that you'll put that one aside in favor of one that will help the country. There are some important documents missing from our file storage. I need you to find them. The records keeper down below should be able to give you a hand. She's new, and not too bad on the eyes. Quite the bibliophile. I am not allowed to tell you what the documents contain, but-"

The consulting detective snorted. "Let me guess. Records of the budgets on under-the-table weapons? Oh, don't look so incredulous, it wasn't that difficult to deduce. Your security systems and firewalls are practically neolithic for all the good they've been doing you, and those guns your bodyguards are carrying can't be legal."

John Watson began to swear inside his head.

The Prime Minister swallowed nervously. "How did you-? How could you possibly-?" He stammered.

Sherlock glared, his voice darkening with rage. "I know about the double-dealing. I know that you have a four year old daughter who watches Doctor Who and probably believes that the Queen and her family are lycanthropes. I hold nothing but contempt for you, you fat, thoughtless man who bribed your way into office and keep searching for products to correct your rapidly receding hairline. You can remember me, a man famous for doing something about a problem you didn't even know you had, but you can't be bothered to remember the name of Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fuseliers, a man who nearly sacrificed his life to defend your country. Your breathing pattern tells me about your undiagnosed heart condition and your right sleeve tells me about your addiction to internet po-"

Sherlock Holmes froze mid-sentence as several guns were pointed at his person. The Prime Minister, even paler than before and livid with fury, had gestured behind his back at his bodyguards, who had taken their cue and stopped the curly haired man from speaking any further. The Prime Minister snarled, "I can have you arrested on the charge of hacking into government websites and stealing classified information, Mr. Holmes. Don't think I won't."

"Alright, alright, why don't we all just, I don't know, take a deep breath. Or something. Just- just lower your weapons, alright? No need to be hasty and do something we might regret later." John held his hands up pleadingly and glanced between the guards, Sherlock, and the Prime Minister. He desperately needed to defuse the situation before Sherlock got himself killed. "Let's just think this through. Sherlock, why don't you apologize to the Prime Minister, here?"

Sherlock looked at him like he was insane."John-"

"_Sherlock_."

Sherlock swallowed his protests and inclined his head shortly to the Prime Minister. "My apologies," he managed to spit out.

"There." John said, sounding satisfied. "Prime Minister, is that acceptable...?"

The overweight man seemed to be deciding whether or not to have them both arrested. John secretly suspected that the only thing stopping the Prime Minister from taking a gun and shooting them on the spot was the threat of Mycroft's retribution, since Mycroft was the one who _really_ ran the British government.. "Fine. You two are dismissed. Get out of my office, get out of my sight, and never, ever come back!" He snarled. The two bodyguards lowered their guns, and John exhaled slowly.

"Thank you," John said quickly, and he seized Sherlock's arm and dragged him out of the room.


End file.
